


But Face Him Boldly

by claudine



Series: claudine's faves [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Canon, Bedwarmer, Camp follower Merlin, Canon Era, Glompfest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Sharing a Bed, fluff and porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudine/pseuds/claudine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he arose at dawn, Merlin had already gone. Arthur was disappointed though he couldn’t exactly fathom out why. It was their morning ritual bickering—probably. Merlin usually made another attempt then: “to relax your royal highness” he’d say, “for improved concentration”. Arthur thought it a whole lot of bollocks. </p><p>Though, he did it with the persistence and determination of a knight, which was at odds with his status as bedwarmer, to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Face Him Boldly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sally_maria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sally_maria/gifts).



> Written for [glomp fest 2013](http://glomp_fest.livejournal.com/). I hope you like it, sally_maria! I used your prompt "Bedsharing".
> 
> Thanks to the mods for this wonderful fest, my hardworking beta [kylezy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kylezy) who also helped me with the title, [Alby_Mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alby_Mangroves) for extra help and ideas, [ememmyem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ememmyem) for the Britpick, and everyone who cheered me on.

_Yield not to calamity, but face her boldly.  
—Virgil_

 

The campfire crackled, radiating welcome warmth. Autumn came right after the end of harvest season; it wasn’t the bone-deep freeze of winter, but still cold enough to warrant extra blankets.

Arthur sat on a short log to join his men for the evening meal.

“—And then,” Kay said, pausing to raise his spoon—a sad piece of bent metal really, “she told me she hadn’t seen a cock as small as that!”

“No!”

“And the poor laddie, he just…” Kay really got into it, putting his bowl down and using his hands to make crude gestures, and the circle around the fire burst into laughter. Even stoic Leon cracked a smile, and Geraint struggled to breathe, smacking his thigh with mirth.

Then Geraint’s log gave out, his spoon clattering to the ground amidst shouts of shock, and the laughter around the fire turned into outright _howling_.

Arthur smiled. It was good to see his men unwind and relax. The rabbit stew was good too, rich and warm inside his belly. Having communal suppers like this made things seem like they were back in the woods surrounding Camelot, resting after a long hunt and not sitting out in the middle of nowhere, prepared for siege.

Military sieges were a drawn-out, tiresome affair. He knew that, as much as he knew it was of utmost necessity. Gedref’s strategic location was probably why a Mercian upstart had decided to take over it, and it wasn’t so much a matter of pride but of ensuring the safety of his people and Camelot’s continued survival.

When things were settled, he’d install a garrison to protect the castle. A well-fortified castle was worth the expense over having to bring along a large procession every time someone thought to chip away at a piece of the land.

\---

 

They stayed up late discussing plans for the morrow. When Arthur retired to his own tent he was tired and chilled to the bone. He stumbled a little, flopped down on the bedroll, and reached to pull his boots off. A muffled groan sounded from beneath his pillows.

“You’re late,” Merlin said, voice muzzy. There were creases in the skin of his cheeks, and he looked rumpled, soft, and very warm.

“Sire,” Arthur corrected him, before adding without heat, “You really have no manners.”

“Sorry, _sire_ ,” came the reply, insolent, even said half-asleep. “I beg your forgiveness, it’s my first time serving a king.”

“Move over.” 

Arthur sank into the most comfortable spot on the bed, left behind by the heat of a warm body. He didn’t snuggle but it was a near thing. Beside him, Merlin shifted, restless, and took the decision out of his hands by putting his skinny arms around him and nestling into his chest. 

Ever so carefully, slowly, a warm hand crept under his shirt to scratch at the soft flesh of his belly. Then the touch changed—the smooth pads of fingers, lingering, soothing the slight sting and reaching lower to dip beneath the waistband.

Arthur swallowed hard. Right on schedule.

“Don’t,” he said, gently reprimanding, as if this was the first time he’d rebuffed his advances. He grasped Merlin’s questing hand and pulled it out of his breeches, placing it at his side. 

They’d played this back-and-forth game for two weeks—Merlin did his best to undo him, then sulked when it failed, muttering about performing his job as a _proper_ bedwarmer, of which sex was apparently a prerequisite.

“But we haven’t fucked. Not once,” Merlin said, his words harsh in the quiet. The seduction forgotten, he sounded like a complaining fishwife. A sulking Merlin—Arthur could deal with that. 

“I’m the king. I don’t want to have to pay someone to relieve my baser needs.” And he wouldn’t. Arthur didn’t begrudge his knights a warm body, but he had personal standards of honour. “I just need you to keep my bed warm.” 

And if he fantasized of Merlin’s mouth, deep in the night when Merlin was fast asleep, nobody had to find out.

“But we could do both,” Merlin tried again, pressing soft kisses to Arthur’s chest, the warmth of Merlin’s lips seeping through the fabric of his shirt. “And believe me, if I didn’t wish to lie with you, you would know.”

“I would. One wonders how you stay in business.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he said like a matter of fact. “And I am very good at what I do.”

The chaste kisses turned almost lewd, Merlin’s tongue creating warm, moist trails which cooled in the air. It made Arthur shiver and almost give in. Almost.

“No means no, Merlin.” 

That was the end of it, even if Merlin had childishly lobbed the jar of ointment he’d hidden under the pillow at the corner of their tent. 

Merlin turned away from Arthur, stiff, and Arthur almost understood the insult that his bedwarmer thought this was. A truce then? He scooted closer, curling up behind Merlin. Spooning really, but technicalities mattered little now that he was ensconced in comfortable warmth. He took a deep breath, his nose close enough to the nape of Merlin’s neck to smell his clean, fresh smell. They had camped at the river, cutting the Mercians off from fresh water supplies—Merlin had probably washed earlier.

He waited a beat or two before yielding and pushing back against Arthur’s chest. 

It was almost like sleeping with a lover.

\---

 

When he arose at dawn, Merlin had already gone. Arthur was disappointed though he couldn’t exactly fathom out why. It was their morning ritual bickering—probably. Merlin usually made another attempt then: “to relax your royal highness” he’d say, “for improved concentration”. Arthur thought it a whole lot of bollocks.

Though, he did it with the persistence and determination of a knight, which was at odds with his status as bedwarmer, to say the least.

Arthur got up, putting away the bedroll, changed out of his stale shirt and pulled on his boots. Leon had argued that he needed a squire, but he’d managed fine and, anyway, Merlin insisted on helping him into his armour every morning. He’d been pretty adept at it too, though his motives for getting his hands on Arthur were rather suspect.

“Good morning!” Merlin said when he burst into the tent, giving Arthur a bit of a start. “I brought breakfast.” And there was fruit on his plate—a fresh pear, certainly not what his men were eating.

“Merlin, where did that come from?” Arthur said, exasperated.

“I have my ways,” Merlin replied. He had a look on his face that suggested mischief.

And that was just it, wasn’t it, how he managed to infuriate and charm at the same time. It was a little disconcerting.

“I know uncooked fruit is beneath royalty,” Merlin said, shrugging, looking a little uncomfortable now, “but I thought it’d be a nice supplement. To meat and... things.”

“Thank you.”

Merlin looked down at that and scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink. It was a fetching look—far more affecting than any practised seduction.

“You’re welcome. Now hurry up and eat so I can help you into your armour… Sire.”

\---

 

No one expected the attack when it came. Shitting luck, they’d say later. Shitting coincidence really, with the insurgents happening upon them and wounding two of his knights—serious wounds that required more than a hastily-applied poultice and the clumsy hands of a squire.

Still, it was lucky no one died. Arthur was thankful for that.

It was quick and brutal, the metal of swords sinking into unprotected weak spots between metal links—vulnerable flesh after all was said and done. 

There’d been no battle trumpets or formations, just pained moans sounding in the night. 

In the aftermath, they’d managed to keep two men alive for questioning at least, but neither would talk.

Arthur could feel the nick on his cheek where he’d been cut. Anger would be useless now but still it flowed, sharp and metallic.

When he finished the first watch and went to bed, the adrenaline was still buzzing in his blood. Without an outlet he was left frustrated. He barely noticed Merlin, so worked up was he, that he stripped off his breeches in front of him then curled to his side, taking himself in hand.

It was rough—he needed it rough—but there was something missing tonight. Arthur made a noise of anger. He just wanted to finish and sleep.

With a slight shuffling noise, Merlin moved from behind him and placed a warm hand on his, grasping and removing it from his cock.

“Let me,” he said. Simple and without his usual wheedling, a request firmly given. It was as if Merlin knew what to do and say at that given moment. Of course, like he said—a consummate professional.

“Let me do this for you.”

And then Merlin sat up, pulled down his breeches ( _already_ unlaced) and braced himself on the bedroll, arse towards Arthur. He checked, a finger slipping inside himself, and sighed when it came out already greased.

“You prepared yourself?” Arthur asked, voice hoarse with arousal. He couldn’t stop looking at Merlin’s fingers, the way they disappeared into the tight, pink hole of his arse and reappeared, shining with slick in the low light of the tent.

“Every night.” Merlin said, then stopped and turned his head towards him. His lashes left shadows on his cheeks.

“I’d hoped for a proper fucking, but it seems like tonight's the night we’ve been waiting for.”

“I—” 

“Tonight belongs to me. Don’t take it away. Not for your misplaced honour or your pride,” he said, his voice raised a little, before calming down.

“This is what I’m good at,” he said softly, and then in a whisper, “Let me—sire.”

It was his manner of address, his yielding, that broke Arthur in the end.

“Alright,” Arthur said. “But turn around.” He nudged Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him to face him.

“I want to see your face when I take you.”

“—When you fuck me you mean,” Merlin interrupted, grinning. “You can say it. And you can come in me, dirty me inside with your spend.”

Arthur growled and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him even closer. It made Merlin laugh in a loud staccato, head thrown back, exposing his long, slender neck. It looked deceptively weak, but had a strength you had to have when you shared your favours with hard-nosed men. 

Arthur wanted to mark it. Bite it all over so no other man could claim him. 

Licking at Merlin’s neck gave the slightly salty taste of skin, but it was clean, as with the other nights when they had slept in his bed together. He’d really prepared himself everywhere then. Every night, he said, waiting for the day when Arthur would give in. 

Arthur bit down hard and Merlin was shocked into a sharp moan, which dragged on as Arthur soothed and laved the bite with his tongue.

“You’re very loud,” Arthur said into his ear, causing him to shiver.

“You’re very chatty,” Merlin countered, “But it’s time for the fucking.”

Arthur grunted in assent and pushed Merlin onto his back. He edged forward on his knees and took himself in hand, pressing himself slowly into the cleft of Merlin’s arse. Just the head first, until the clenched muscle dimpled and gave. Slowly, he fed the rest of his cock into Merlin’s hole, unwilling to hurt Merlin but eager for the fuck. 

When he sank in fully, he gasped. It was hot and tight inside—like Merlin was clutching at him.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” Merlin said, panting, grimacing as he adjusted to Arthur’s girth. He gave his own cock a quick tug or two and spread his thighs wide, his feet pushing flat against the bedroll.

It made him hot, watching Merlin expose himself like that for him, and Arthur took a moment to admire the fairness of his skin against the contrast of darker, coarse hairs. Merlin had a nicely-sized cock that curved to the side against his belly, with its pretty, flushed head peeking from its hood of skin, a lovely colour.

He liked that Merlin was slender yet masculine, the fact that his body was angled and hard and could resist, unlike the softness of a woman like a ripe fruit he’d be afraid to bruise. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy women, but right now—right now he wanted a man he could lose himself in. 

He wanted Merlin.

Arthur gripped Merlin’s thighs with his hands, hard enough that the flesh dimpled. He pulled out until just his cockhead remained, before giving a deliberate thrust, pushing back in a move that rocked Merlin against the bed.

He withdrew once more to reposition himself, aiming for the angle that he knew would make Merlin _feel_ it, and thrust in again, deep, grunting with the effort.

“ _Ahhh_ ,” Merlin moaned. He gripped his cock, thumbing the slit hard, then began to strip it. “Harder. I want to feel you all the way inside.”

Arthur took in the sight of Merlin—his body on fire from his face to his chest, a becoming red that suited him very much. His neck was sweaty, littered with bite-bruises. His hair was askew. He was panting hard. And now his cock was fully stiff and leaking, leaving sticky trails over his abdomen. 

Arthur had never seen a more lovely sight. 

He wanted to ruin him, claim him completely, leave it without any doubt that Merlin was _his_.

Arthur thrusted quickly, shallowly, and variated it with long, deep rolls of his hips that had Merlin screaming. He was sure that his men outside would hear—Merlin had no reservations about that anyway—but he was glad for it; glad that everyone would know he was balls-deep in Merlin.

Merlin, who had been increasingly infuriating and endearing from the moment he stepped foot into Arthur’s tent and life, because Kay thought he needed to loosen up.

Feisty, Kay had called him. High tolerance for pain, Geraint had added. They’d had him then, in the beginning. There was something more about Merlin though. Some sort of… personal touch. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Arthur might be mad to think a camp whore’s affection real, but he thought that sincerity was just part of Merlin’s charm. He gave and demanded in equal measure.

And being inside Merlin, taking what he had to give—the heat of his flesh; his voice, hoarse with sobbing moans telling Arthur how good it was—drove Arthur to that edge where it felt like he would burst with pleasure.

It wasn’t long before Arthur came, feeling himself spurt inside. He sank down on Merlin’s body and breathed in deep, taking in lungfuls of air while Merlin was still tugging at his cock, visible tear tracks on his face and his mouth scrunched up like he was desperate.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, giving a little laugh, and sat up. He put his hand over Merlin’s and helped him fist his cock until he reached his own completion.

Merlin shot over his nightshirt. He looked debauched with just the shirt on, stained with sticky white, and his legs bare. A little come dripped from his hole, leaving little damp spots on the sheet. It looked slightly swollen and red. Used. Then Merlin grunted and unclenched, and it was like he’d been _storing_ Arthur’s spend to keep, only now releasing it. It dripped down his arse and onto the makeshift bed.

Curious, Arthur gently dipped a finger inside Merlin’s hole and pushed it around before dragging it out.

“Do you always cry when you come?” Arthur asked, teasing.

Merlin jerked, then hid his face in the pillow. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said. Only if it’s particularly bad.”

Arthur stilled, unsure. 

Merlin peeked from the pillows, a grin on his face, and something in Arthur loosened as he proceeded to jab at Merlin’s sides, tickling him relentlessly until he begged for mercy.

“Do you yield?” Arthur growled as he held him down, his fingers clawed and ready to attack at any sign of resistance.

Merlin’s lips pursed, a defiant gleam in his eye, but he was no match for Arthur, who’d won many a tickle fight with Morgana until they’d been too old for such games. He tried valiantly to unseat Arthur and laughed as they tussled, only stopping when they were out of breath.

“You feel better?” 

“I do,” Arthur said. “And I’m glad it was good for you too.” He looked for a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made of Merlin’s body.

The nightshirt would have to be rinsed in the river the next day, but he cleaned up his thighs and arse as well as he could.

\---

 

When dawn arrived, Merlin was still fast asleep, curled around Arthur, their bare legs entwined.

Merlin was probably tired from last night, Arthur thought. He’d been running on the passion of the fight, and his heart struggled between guilt and this new, possessive feeling.

He looked at Merlin’s sleeping face. It was relaxed and unlined in sleep as usual, but he seemed… younger this morning. Like a boy teetering on the cusp of manhood, unlike the creature who’d moaned and thrashed and gave him so much pleasure the night before. It left him feeling tender, wanting to cherish and keep safe.

Merlin’s eyelashes fluttered and, slowly, his eyes blinked open.

“Morning sire,” he said, then yawned. “Told you we could do both.”

“I shouldn’t have—” Arthur started, frustrated. “Even if you were willing. I’m your sovereign, Merlin.”

Merlin’s placid, sleepy expression turned a bit confused, then exasperated. 

“If you’re going to be like that, I’m going to Geraint’s tent.” 

Merlin made to sit up, and, in a quick move, Arthur used his body to flip him, pinning him down. He looked down at Merlin, who’d started breathing a little faster, perhaps in shock.

“I—” Arthur said, then stopped, his thoughts in a whirl.

“I don’t want you to go to Geraint,” he said carefully, measuring his words. Thinking of Merlin being used and marked by his men, even his most loyal ones, brought forth an irrational anger.

“And yet you don’t want to keep me.”

Merlin sounded on the verge of anger. Arthur didn’t know why—he just wanted to keep Merlin safe. Safe from where he would be roughly used and then passed around. The hypocrisy of his thoughts wasn’t lost on him, and it made him burn a little in shame.

“I want to protect you.”

Merlin turned away. 

“I can fend for myself. I’m eighteen,” he replied, as if being eighteen summers of age meant that he was invincible, as if it meant he could never be harmed.

Arthur knew it was not so.

“I want you with me,” Arthur said at last. He was on top of Merlin, by all looks the aggressor, but it felt like he’d lost a battle. Given something up. 

Gently, he held the sides of Merlin’s face and turned it towards him.

“When this is over—” Arthur started again, then swallowed, looking into the intensity of Merlin’s eyes, “—It would please me if you were to come with me. To Camelot.”

Merlin eyed him. A wrinkle appeared in between his brows.

“You would have me be a king’s pet?”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat, before continuing, “You’d be my manservant. You already dress me and feed me—” and here Merlin snorted, “You’d have regular wages. Freedom to walk as you please, but with my protection.”

Merlin’s face softened imperceptibly, his mouth losing its stubborn slant.

“You’re too honourable for your own good,” he said. His eyes were half-lidded now, burning with some unnamed emotion. He reached up to Arthur and sank a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Arthur let himself be led, his lips opening over Merlin’s in a sweet kiss, their breaths mingling hot. It felt like a promise.


End file.
